


The Violinist

by idioticintentions



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, M/M, Mafia AU, Violinist Loki AU, dubcon, mafia! Thor, mob! Thor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-08 10:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13456104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioticintentions/pseuds/idioticintentions
Summary: Loki has worked so hard to move past his father and his demons. But he still finds himself paying for his father's mistakes.“Or,” Thor offers. And he leans in close. His beard brushes Loki’s cheek and his lips dance by his ear. “You can let me have you for a night. Just one and I’ll consider all your debt repaid.”





	The Violinist

The stage is empty save for a piano and the mics set above it. The organ pipes are brilliant polished bronze in the background with filigree between so that it is a living garden meant for music rather than a simple music maker. The audience is hushed as they wait. The heavy velvet curtain moves with their soft breathing.

Thor is seated far above in the balcony. He does not sit among the lower levels even when the house is nearly empty as it is now. From above, he has full view of the stage. He can watch the flash of the pianist’s hands as easily as he can spy the swift pull of the violinist’s arms. He enjoys the vantage point, uninterrupted, as he waits for the duo to walk onto the stage.

The hush deepens when someone comes on to move a chair. The girl, a graduate at the conservatory, bobs a nod to the crowd. Then talking begins. Where is the violinist? When will they come? Then, as if questioning their existence summoned them, the musicians enter stage right.

The pianist is a tall, willowy woman with dark hair, braided into a crown around her head. Her dress is a slip of a thing, red and velvet, brushing her ankles with each step as she strides towards the bench.

In her wake is a man even more impressive. His violin hangs from his deft hands as if it is merely an extension of him. His dark hair is slicked back from his proud forehead and his suit is immaculately tailored. He shines a brief smile upon the audience before taking his seat. He touches the rosewood violin to his chin and awaits the pianist to begin.

When they do begin, it is a call and answer. The piano plays the notes, the violin plays them back, and they build off one another as the allegro continues at its maddening pace. Generally, Thor finds Beethoven’s piano concertos a bit repetitive, but each note seems wholly new as the pair plays them. The violinist is even more impressive. He is barely contained in his seat as his bow flies over his violin. His hair shakes loose from where it is held. He is one with the music, the manic climb and slow, delirious fall. They work through a largo con espressione and Thor feels his heart breaking. The music moves him as it does the violinist.

Now he wishes he were closer. He wishes to see the expression on the violinist’s face. Is he rapturous in the music? Is he frozen stiff for all of his soul is now in his hands and no longer in his head? Or is he sublime, above it all?

Thor leans forward and watches the duo play on. He makes a note of the violinist’s name from the program.

_Loki Farbauti._

 

\--

 

Loki returns from the faculty recital with his hands aching and arms burning. He barely manages his apartment door open and, when he does, he begins to sincerely wish he hadn’t. His apartment is completely trashed. Even his umbrella stand, a peculiar thing he picked up in Austria while with the Salzburg Orchestra, has been upset. He steps over the spilled umbrellas into the living room. There, among even more carnage of his things, is his father.

Laufey has dark hair like Loki, but that is where the resemblance ends. He is thick in his arms and his chest. He is gruff in his demeanor. They had never gotten along, but Loki did not think it was so bad between them that his father would ruin his apartment.

“What are you doing?” Loki asks, exhausted.

Laufey looks up. His eyes are red-rimmed and Loki realizes his father had been crying. For a brief moment, he considers going over and offering comfort. But he is not that boy anymore. He will not be some dog that comes crawling back despite everything done to him. Loki crosses his arms and waits for an explanation.

Laufey sighs. “Boy, you shouldn’t make me say it.”

“Shouldn’t make you say what?” Loki sneers. The last time he had seen his father was Christmas a year ago, when he finally made the pilgrimage to see his only son’s accomplishment of making faculty at the New England Conservatory. In the end, though, it had not been to praise his son. It had been to ask him for money and none too politely. Loki tucks his hands protectively beneath his arms.

Laufey is angry for a moment but then whatever is weighing him down crushes that sentiment. The old man sighs. “We owe money.”

“Take out a loan,” Loki spits. He can see his favorite vase broken. He had gotten it in Copenhagen three years ago. He really liked that one. “Or go ask your bitch of a girlfriend. Just don’t ask me.”

Laufey shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “You didn’t hear me, right. I said _we_ owe money. You’re lucky I’m telling you this.” Laufey gives him a sharp, cruel look. “I could have just let them come to your door and break your hands. But I’m telling you because I’m such a caring father.”

Loki tries not to let the fear show. He begins picking up his things. He hates his father. He absolutely hates him.

“Now tell me how I could possibly owe money. I haven’t taken out a loan and I’d never co-sign a loan for you.”

“It’s nothing as simple as that,” Laufey says in such a way that Loki’s blood runs cold. He turns ands watches his father. There is a deep, broken sadness in him. There is the inevitability of death.  _What have you done?_ Loki thinks.

“I fucked with a family business, and, you see, they fuck with family right back.”

 Loki's stomach plummets.

_What do I do?_

_\--_

After another hour, Loki finally gets the whole story. It comes at the price of takeout pizza and Loki promising not to call the police.

As it turns out, after Loki had turned Laufey away last Christmas, his father had the bright idea to go double his money at a gambling hall. It wasn’t a casino because Laufey is on almost every list known to man. No, he went to one his vacuous girlfriend somehow knew about and gambled away his money at a mob-controlled house.

But he didn’t stop there, he gambled money he didn’t have. The house played him for a fool until he racked up so much debt that he could never hope to repay. Even Loki, not rich but not poor anymore, blanched at the sum. Fifty thousand would be very difficult to come up with on such short notice.

Loki decided, though, that paying what he could should be enough to buy them a time allowance. Laufey had agreed it was a good idea. So the next day, Loki goes to the house on his own. He makes sure to lock Laufey out of his apartment before doing so. “I don’t ever want to see you again,” he says to his father as they stand on Gainsborough. The wind whips cold between them.

“When it’s all said and done,t you’ll be seeing me in hell,” Laufey says with a tobacco stained smile. Then he leaves, walking down Huntington and on towards who-the-fuck-cares. Loki goes the other way, hoping 8 pm is not too early to make an entrance at an illegal gambling house.

He had not been sure of what to wear. His father had been of no help, telling him to just show some skin with cackle. So he is in one of his recital suits, his hair styled more casually and tied in a bun on the top of his head. He raises his hand to knock on the door when a burly man steps outside. He has red hair and a red face and he sizes Loki up.

“You Laufey’s son?” he asks after a beat.

Loki is frozen a moment and then quickly comes to his senses. “Yes. Yes I am. Have you been expecting me?”

The man gives him a toothy grin. “You could be sayin’ that.”

Loki swallows and follows him inside.

He is taken towards the back. The front is still being set up for the nightly activities but immediately Loki sees the secondary business of this house. Not only are men to lose their money on bets, but they are to vest it in experiences. Women in revealing clothing and painted smiles grin at him coquettishly. The red haired man tells him gruffly to keep his eyes forward.

Loki thinks of expressing his opinion of woman. While wonderful, he has not attraction to them. Somehow, though, in this testosterone fueled crime world, he doubts that will win him much credibility. So he keeps his mouth shut and follows the man deep into the house.

Finally, they come to an office and Loki is made to wait outside while the red haired man goes in. It’s a painfully long minute before he is retrieved. Then he is set before the man he must bargain with.

Almost immediately, Loki cannot breathe.

Not from lack of air. Not from a hit to the gut. No, he cannot breathe because he cannot believe that he is witnessing what he is. The man named as the 'boss' is not much older than him. He is built like a brickhouse and is extremely attractive. His hair is long like Loki’s and is of the same shade as his groomed beard. The Boss rises and smiles at Loki. “Please, have a seat,” he instructs.

Loki’s motor functions start to come back on line. He more falls into the proffered seat than properly sits in it. “My name is Thor. You’ve met my associate Volstagg,” he indicates the red haired man who gives Loki a cheeky little wave. “And now might who you be? Does Laufey’s son have a name?”

“Loki.” Loki says. His voice is even and he thanks all those years of performing. He can keep a cool exterior even as he is being torn apart inside. This is not at all what he has expected and he worries his plans will fall apart.

“Loki Bjorn?” Thor asks.

Loki shakes his head. “Um, no I--” _when I got emancipated I changed my name to my mother’s maiden name. I couldn’t bear to be my father’s son anymore_. “I changed my name for the stage. Surprisingly, the more syllables, the more seriously they take you. Loki Farbauti.” Loki gives a small, self-deprecating laugh.

Volstagg joins in, amused. Thor continues to look pensive. Loki feels as if he has just been seen through.

“Alright,” Thor allows. He begins rifling around his desk and finally pulls up a large, rubber banded manila folder. He slides a page out of the top and puts a pair of glasses on. He regards the page carefully. “Your father owes fifty thousand and named you cosigner.”

“I didn’t realize you could co-sign without actually co-signing,” Loki says tightly through his smile.

Thor gives him a dry look, but beneath it is a spark of something. For a moment, Loki believes the Boss may have found him funny. “Traditionally, yes, but we are not a traditional business, Loki. Not by a longshot. Now how do you intend to pay?” Thor takes off his glasses. He looks Loki right in the face and Loki fights the urge to look away.

Blindly, he pulls the check in his suit jacket out. He puts it on Thor’s desk so that the man can see it. “I can pay thirty thousand right now. I hope with that, i can get another month to get the rest of the funds.”

Volstagg makes a surprised snort behind him. Thor continues to look at him coolly without even glancing at the check. “I don’t know if you heard me. I said you owe fifty thousand now.”

Loki is unmoved. “And I said I could pay thirty thousand now and get the rest to you in a month.”

Thor swallows. Loki tracks the movement from his lips, down his throat, to where the white button down is pulling tight over his chest. When he looks back into Thor’s face, the man’s expression has altered slightly. Loki, though, cannot tell exactly how.

“Volstagg, leave us.”

Volstagg does. The door closing sounds reminiscent of a bell tolling. Thor stands from behind his desk and now Loki can see how tall he is. Perhaps they are of the same height, but the breadth of Thor makes him appear so much bigger. Loki will not be cowed, though. He sits primly on the seat and watches Thor as the other man goes to make a drink at the sideboard.

“I need the money now, Loki. Or a better promise than your word.”

“The banks don’t open until Monday,” Loki explains. “I can go in for a loan then and get the papers to you as soon as it’s closed.”

“That’s not good enough.” Thor says. He places a drink before Loki. It is amber in color and very light. Thor is drinking something similar, leaning on his desk. So close, Loki can feel the heat rolling off of him. He carefully takes a sip of the drink. It is sweet and smooth.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he confesses after a beat. “I have nothing else to give.”

All he has is his name and his violin; and he’d never sell his violin.

Thor hums in thought. “You’ve seen that there is a second business outside of gambling here. I’m sure even you with your nose up in the air was able to see that much.”

Loki smooths his hackles as they try to rise. He will not take the bait. “I had. Prostitution I believe is the technical term.”

Thor shrugs. He is like a lion in his grace, all powerful muscle barely restrained. His gaze is sharp when he turns it on Loki and he meets it evenly. “Now, you could work out there. Earn me back my money. I’m sure those hands of yours would be _very_ good.”

His stomach bottoms out. It is not even the prostitution--as vile as it is--it is the focus on his hands. He cannot lose them. They are as much his instrument as his violin. He feels a low tremor go through him.

“Or,” Thor offers. And he leans in close. His beard brushes Loki’s cheek and his lips dance by his ear. “You can let me have you for a night. Just one and I’ll consider all your debt repaid.”

“Just one night?” Loki asks, cursing himself as soon as he did so. It is such a good deal and Loki has had so very little good in his life that he doubts he is getting it. _But don’t look a gift horse in the mouth_ , his father cajoles him mentally before taking another swig from the wild turkey bottle.

Thor pulls back and his smile is warm and blooming. “One night,” he promises. “And I’ll pay your debts myself.”

“My hands,” Loki hears himself saying but in his mind he is floating somewhere far off. Is he elated? Is he terrified? “You must promise not to hurt my hands.”

Thor grasps one. Loki flinches away, but Thor is steadfast. He raises it to his lips and gently kisses the back of it. “I’d die before I harm these hands. You play far too beautifully.”

“You know who I am,” Loki finds himself saying. He is so far away now. This scene is just a pinprick in the distance and he is lost among the stars.

Thor looks at him heatedly. “Not yet, but I intend to find out.”

\--

There are no arrangements made. Loki is just left with a promise that he will see Thor again. He comes home to his apartment still in disarray. He rights his umbrella stand. He throws out the pieces of the vase. Then he puts the kettle on.

He sits on his couch and puts his head in his hands. Then he cries.

“What have I done?”

\--

A month later, he has a rehearsal, open door again. This time, Sigyn and he will be accompanied by a cellist, a british fellow named Jack Appleby. He is white in the hair and shaped just like his instrument. They have been working on this Ravel piece for awhile, and talk backstage about how excited they are to finally play it for a crowd.

Loki is nervous, though. That morning, he had received a package in the mail. The letter had only said.

_To Loki,_

_I will call upon you tonight. Please wear these cufflinks when you play; it would please me greatly._

 

  * __Thor__



 

 

The cufflinks had been weighty little things. His father would have been able to tell in a heartbeat if they were pure gold, but as it is Loki did not know, he just assumed. The shape of them was square; a small tree with eight strong branches was imprinted upon a golden field. He feels the weight of them as he brings his violin beneath his chin on the stage. For a moment, they feel much more like cuffs thank cufflinks.

He glances out to the crowd, something he never does. And there, above in the balcony, he sees Thor. He enters the song on instinct, his eyes still glancing above. Then he looks away, embarrassed at his inattention, and finds his place in the music sheet. Then he loses himself to it.

Ravel is quick, always, and demands his full body. He plucks one moment and then is slamming his bow across his violin to end with him rocking forward. The music is from his whole body, not just the violin. When they finally finish the three acts, he is sweating and seeing stars in the edges of his vision.

Sigyn has to gently guide him from the stage. He is dazed. He is on an adrenaline high. When they come out to bow, the applause still going, he glances up to see Thor. But Thor is gone. Disappointment hits him swiftly and Sigyn must once again help him off the stage.

As he’s leaving later, a man stops him outside. He has golden hair like Thor, but it is much shorter and coiffed rather dramatically. The man smiles at Loki. “Thor awaits you.”

Loki follows the direction the man is pointing and sees a town car idling. Sigyn walks behind him and sees this unfold. Her smiles is lascivious. “Oh you don’t want to keep that waiting,” she purrs. Then she dances away before Loki can retaliate.

With little option, Loki goes. The blond keeps step with him and opens the door upon his approach. Loki slides in and finds Thor very close. “Hello,” Loki greets rather awkwardly.

“Hello,” Thor says while drinking him in. Loki feels underdressed under such scrutiny. “I saw you wore the cuff links.”

“I did. It was very thoughtful of you.” Loki says diplomatically. He wants to take them off now, to hand them back, but the night is not over. Of the little negotiating they did, the end of the night was determined to be when the sun comes up the next day. At 11pm, they have seven hours.

Thor laughs. “Don’t be so scared,” he says. “You look as if I plan to ravish you in the car.”

“The thought had occurred,” Loki says.

This sets Thor off again, the large man chuckling. When he returns to himself, he is wiping a tear from his eye. “I promise, I am more of a gentleman.”

“One who doesn’t stay through the entire show?” Loki presses. Belatedly, he realizes what he said and wishes he could take it back.

Thor, though, looks delighted. “I am sorry I left before you came for your bow. I had a bit of problem to take care of before the bathrooms filled.”

Loki blushes at both Thor’s words and sultry tone. He has been told his music has moved people emotionally. He had never known it to move another quite so physically. “Very judicious of you, then,” Loki says.

A beat passes. Thor is a warm, comfortable line beside him and Loki finds the space he found so small before is not that small. Slowly, he begins to unwind as the car makes its way through the Boston night.

Then, ruining the moment, Thor gives him a faint look. “You’re strange.”

Loki makes an annoyed noise.

Thor puts his arm around him and gives him half a hug. “I mean that in a good way. I also mean it in that your father is pretty coarse. But then there’s you, and you sound like you went to posh schools followed by Juilliard.”

Loki sniffs. “I did attend Julliard.”

“Oh.”

“And I talk like this because I spent the past ten years of my life in Salzburg. They don’t tend to understand American slang there.” Loki says it more hotly than he intends, but it’s a sore point. His father drove him clear across the ocean. Even now, Loki wonders if he should have continued to stay away.

“I’m sorry,” Thor apologizes. “I didn’t mean to be rude. You know my father and I don’t get along either.”

“I didn’t say that,” Loki argues.

Thor snorts. “Sure you didn’t. Remember, I met your father. I doubt that man gets along with anyone. But as I was saying, my father and I don’t get along. He thinks I’m too modern in my thinking. He’s appalled I use venmo.”

Loki lets out a startled laugh. “You use venmo at an illegal gambling ring? Isn’t it traceable”

Thor shrugs. “There’s ways around that. Ways around a lot of things. Like this,” and Thor taps Loki to indicate him. “You wouldn’t have gotten this deal if I didn’t love you long before I met you.”

“You’ve only heard me play,” Loki sulks but even then, his heart is interested.

It nearly beats out of his chest when Thor whispers, “And that was enough.”

\--

They have wine at Thor’s huge apartment in Back Bay. The Charles River is a slow moving serpent far below and the streets with all their lights are its colorful babies, squirming along through the deepening Boston night. Thor tells Loki about himself. About how his father and he differ on a moral level as well as technological; Thor seeing the justice that Odin seeks out far too harsh. “The world changing,” he tells Loki as he opens the third bottle, “people don’t respond to violence anymore.”

“What do they respond to?” Loki asks. He is far too deep in his cups as it is but raises his glass for another. Thor obliges happily.

“They respond to friendship, camaraderie. You can get much more out of people if they like you than if they don’t.”

“Is that what you’re doing to me?” Loki asks. Because he is starting to like Thor. He is funny and kind. His duty transforms him, but don’t all jobs do that? Loki’s turns him into a madman playing the strings; Thor’s turns him into a calculated business man. Perhaps Loki could accept that part of Thor, too, if Thor already likes the mad musician. _No,_ loves _that mad musician_ , Loki’s mind giddily corrects.

Thor looks sad for a moment. “I don’t think you know how much I am getting from this.”

Loki holds up a finger. His smile is alcohol-warmed. “Ah! I do. Fifty thousand.”

“You’re worth so much more than that,” Thor whispers, but it’s lost in the kiss he places upon Loki’s lips. He swallows Loki’s babbled question and drinks in his soft huff of indignation. Apparently, he really wanted to say something. But now, Thor decides, the time for talking has passed.

He cradles Loki’s head in his hands as he maps out the violinist’s mouth. He tastes of the wine and something sharp like spearmint gum, but beneath that is something cold and cool and bright, like the winter sun. He searches for that taste and Loki just holds on to Thor’s forearms.

They eventually move from the couch to the bedroom. Thor takes his time removing Loki’s clothes as the man sits on the bed. The suit jacket is simple. Then there is the waist coat that Thor admires for a long while before deciding he’d rather see Loki’s trim waist bare. Then there is the shirt and with painstaking care, Loki removes the cuff links. He hands them to Thor.

“They’re yours to keep,” Thor says.

Loki looks at them. His mind is muddled, but he knows that they are not his. They belong to someone else; they belong to someone who will no longer be here come sunrise. “Okay,” he says to appease Thor. Then he drops them on the ground between them and begins working on Thor’s clothes as well.

Naked, they lay on the bed with Thor on top. Their mouths meet in open, loud kisses. Then Thor is working his way down, tasting each muscle and licking each vein that Loki’s body offers up to him. He can feel the heat in Loki’s trembling bicep, where he had been pulling the resin bow all night.

When Thor completes his worship--although it will never be complete, he could worship at this particular altar until his dying day and not even then have done enough--he grabs the lube. Loki watches him as Thor coats his fingers. “Is it going to hurt?” Loki asks. His brow is pinching even as his jaw falls slack. Thor rubs his fingers over his hole, slowly circling the goal.

“I won’t let it hurt, baby,” Thor promises and kisses the inside of Loki’s thigh. Then he pushes one finger in, past the tight furl, and feels the heat within. Loki is receptive, just like he is with music, but his voice barely makes a sound. It is his body that he communicates with. His back arches off the bed. His hands move against the covers. His thighs quiver and shake as Thor works him open on one then two and then three fingers.

Finally, with them both leaking precum and Loki’s hole swollen but stretched, Thor begins to ready himself. He puts on a condom and then coats himself again in lube. He takes a brief moment to watch Loki.

The violinist is flushed, his chest pinked and rising with his rapid breaths. His eyes are blown wide, but staring very intently at Thor with a hunger a man can only have for such a meal. When Thor wavers too long, Loki presses on him with his thighs. It is invitation enough, and Thor thrusts in shallowly.

They both groan with the first intrusion. Loki’s face is pinched tight and Thor is quivering with trying to hold back. “Are you okay?” he asks Loki.

Loki breathes noisily through his teeth. “Fine,” he says after a while. Thor moves forward a little more and Loki’s breath is loud again. “Not fine,” he groans.

Thor pets his thighs, running his hands up and down the length of them. “You need to relax,” Thor says gently. “You need to let me in.”

Loki manages a glare. “I’m trying.”

Thor moves in another inch. “Well, try harder.”

Thor thinks Loki may move away, but then Loki bows his back and plants his heels. Thor welcomes the new angle and thrusts in. He is flush in moments, his balls slapping Loki’s ass cheeks, and Loki for his part is letting out a very thin laugh.

“My god,” he mutters.

Thor is able to hover over him now, properly read his face, but he can only see the half laugh twisted in it. “My god good? Or my god bad?”

“My god good,” Loki says and then his eyes flash. “Now move.”

Thor needs no more instruction than that and he thrusts again and again. He also adds his hand, moving up and down Loki’s cock. It is just as the rest of him, not terribly thick but long, and Thor finds that it fits absolutely perfectly in his hand. If Loki allows him, he also plans to test how well it fits in his mouth.

Loki for his part finds his eyes keep trying to look up into his skull. Thor has found his prostate on the third thrust and has not let up on hitting it since. Even as he shifts to meet Thor’s thrusts, the other man moves with him. They are completely in sync. Loki has never had a lover quite like this. He imagines the great organs of old that took years to tune. It’d be blasphemy to say it could be done overnight.

But here was Thor, doing it in one.

When Loki begins to get close, he squeezes his thighs around Thor. Intimately, Thor knows what this means and it thrills him. He kisses Loki on the mouth. He devours his moans. Then he is working him through the orgasm, following with him as Loki’s channel tightens.

They break apart once awareness sinks back into their skin. Thor falls beside Loki and gathers him to his chest after disposing of the condom. Loki draws idle patterns in the sweat on Thor’s stomach.

It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. And Thor had a night of debauchery planned out but this. Well, this he realizes is so much better. He cuddles Loki as they both drift off into a pleasant slumber.

\--

Morning comes as morning does; with little warning and then it is all here. Loki wakes to sunlight on his face. For a moment, he wonders exactly why he is so happy. After all, he’s a night owl and mornings are his enemy. But then he remembers the deal. Then he remembers: he is free.

Thor shifts beside him. He sleepily reaches for Loki, but Loki is already sitting up. He is staring at the sunlight pouring through the window and relishing the feel of it on his skin. His eyes are shut but he can hear Thor prop himself up.

“What are you doing?” Thor asks. He sounds annoyed.

Loki shrugs. “Watching the sun rise.”

Thor noisily falls back onto the bed. He groans. “It’s over,” the blond says. He sounds infinitely sad.

Loki turns to watch him, to see the downturn of his mouth and the sadness in his blue eyes. He can feel some of that in himself as well. But Loki is too happy to let it surface. He does, out of politeness and self preservation, keep his happiness hidden as well. His mask is cool and pensive.

And maybe those are true feelings too. Because as Loki looks at Thor, he sees a man who also dislikes his father. He sees someone who wants to do good, in his own way, and is fiercely loyal to his friends. He sees someone who knows wine well, and coffee varietals, and appreciates Mendelssohn almost as much as Loki. He sees someone that could have been so much more than this; so much more than his captor for a brief period of time.

“You know,” Loki says, “If things had been different, I think we could have been friends.”

Thor does not meet Loki’s gaze. He doesn’t think he can. “I know.”

Loki leaves. In one small bit of sentimentality, Loki takes the cuff links from where he dumped them on the floor. When Thor sees him play at the Conservatory, those cuff links always flash to him from the stage. Not as an invitation but as a reminder.

If things had been different, they could have been friends.

As it is, they cannot.

**Author's Note:**

> I went to the New England Conservatory and the idea hit me like a freight train while I was trying not to cry during the Largo con espressione.
> 
> Notes on the music references:  
> \- I don't think Beethoven is repetitive, my friend said it, not me.  
> \- The musicians are off for the pieces I am referencing. Beethoven's concerto I used requires the cellist but I wanted that piece first and Ravel second. Ravel got the cellist and his piece doesn't need it. I apologize but it's for the plot.  
> \- Interested in the music? Beethoven: Trio No. 2 in G Major for Piano, Violin, Cello, op.1 no.2 | Ravel: Sonata No. 2 in G major for Violin and Piano
> 
> Music listened to while writing: Divenire by Ludovico Einaudi (modern classical composer --> check him out + thanks to glHollow for pointing out my misspelling, I fixed it :) )
> 
> Find me on tumblr: idioticintetions


End file.
